


Good Hunting

by thegirlnamedcove



Series: Culture and Werewolves [1]
Category: teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: And no nonsense descriptions of butchering and field dressing, Deer, Derek Hale & Scott McCall are Both Alphas, Derek Hale Deserves Nice Things, Derek is a Good Alpha, Fluffy, Hunters & Hunting, Hunting, It's not violent, Lydia Is So Done, M/M, Protective Stiles, This story includes no nonsense descriptions of hunting, Traditions, Werewolf Courting, Werewolf Culture, allison is a hypocrite, but it does involve a dead deer carcass and mentions of blood, courting, kind of, so be aware, werewolves are people too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-13 01:19:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11174028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegirlnamedcove/pseuds/thegirlnamedcove
Summary: Stiles used to love hunting with his dad, and now he's going to have a chance to do it again with Derek. But both traditions and feelings are easy to stumble into.ORStiles isn't courting Derek on purpose, but would it be too much to ask for him to at least do it right? As it is he's going about it a little bit backwards.





	1. A Proposal

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: This fic talks about hunting. It does not hesitate to talk about the gross parts, including a scene where they butcher a couple of dead deer and another scene where Stiles crudely describes the process of killing a deer. The story isn't graphic, but it also doesn't use euphamisms, so if hunting bothers you it's probably better to steer clear of the story entirely.
> 
> This fic is finished, and I intend to post one chapter a day until it's all posted. My beta reader is sick, so while I've done my best to edit there might be lingering mistakes. Please don't hesitate to let me know if you see something that needs changing or just general commentary. Criticism is the bread and butter of good writing, so give me all of it. :-)

 

“Can I just say? I am  _ so _ glad I stayed for this.”

Derek shot Stiles a murderous glare from his place in the old armchair. The line of his shoulders was tense, his hands wrung together. Peter leaned against the wall behind him trying to emulate apathy, but a small, secretive smile betrayed his inappropriate level of interest in the topic of discussion. Beside Stiles, Scott and Allison sat on the couch wearing matching expressions of tremulous panic. When they’d announced their engagement and Derek had asked them to stay for a private chat they’d roped Stiles in as a third wheel citing “moral support”. He knew they desperately wanted him to provide an escape, but the thing was: he didn’t want to.

They’d just finished a wonderful knotting sex talk--apparently any kind of lifetime commitment counted in the eyes of Mother Moon to make them mates, and with that came yet more supernatural changes--during which Allison’s hand made not one but two furtive motions towards the bear mace on her lanyard. Before that there had been a quick but effective lecture on pack dynamics, and the decision they’d have to make about whether to break off and create their own pack for them and any future children. Now Derek was walking them through traditional werewolf courting, just in case they wanted to “honor Scott’s side of the marriage”.

“The first gift given to initiate courting should represent the moon in some way. Moonstone is good, as is a mirror. Or anything related to the ocean or nocturnal animals. My mother presented my father with a crab made of blown glass.”

“But we’ve already...we’ve been dating for six years,” Allison said, “We were just waiting for college to end for both of us, aren’t we past courting?”

“It’s the same as engagement for humans,” Derek shrugged, “A traditional period for the two of you to plan your bonding, have the hard conversations about kids and careers, and hopefully deepen the relationship.”

“Okay. So. First gift moon related. Then after that?” Scott had a grim expression on his face and if Stiles had to guess he’d put money that his best friend was trying to name every Disney character he could think of in his head, the same thing he did to help power through dentist appointments.

“After that, one of you needs to prove your worth through a couple different gestures. The alpha in the relationship is typically the one proving themselves, but you could both prove it to one another, that’s very modern.”

Peter snorted, and covered his smile with his hand.

“So what do they gotta do, there, Derek? Feats of strength? Should Scott kill a hydra for her? Or, no, wait, if anyone is killing a hydra it’s gonna be Allison.”

“Stiles!” Derek ground out.

“No, he’s right,” Scott offered.

Derek sighed towards the ceiling, and Stiles wondered if he was asking the moon for patience. Did wolves worship the moon? That was a good question for when everyone was a bit less irritated with him, so he pulled his phone out of his pocket and tried to surreptitiously add it to his notes app.

“There are a lot of different gestures out there, and it varies from pack to pack, but in my family it was a Proof, a Prize, and a Plate. A declaration of love before the entire pack, some sort of evidence of athletic achievement, and fresh prey.”

Allison’s hand settled fully on the bear mace at that.

“Prey?!” Scott’s voice cracked.

“Oh yes, Scott. I presented my wife with a five point buck during our courting. Tore the throat out, and we used the pelt on our bed for years. Nothing quite like real deerskin under your back,” Peter leered at everyone in turn, “But I’m sure Allison won’t mind if the best you can do is a squirrel.”

Allison leaned over and began whispering at Scott in increasingly tense tones, but Stiles wasn’t listening anymore. A five point buck, he’d never managed one of those. Granted, it had been a couple of years since his dad and him could make it up to the hunting cabin but even so they’d both been more than decent with the rifles his dad had gotten to teach him gun safety as a kid. He missed hunting, and now with the memories of long mornings in a deer stand watching the sun rise and leaning against his dad’s shoulder rolling around in his head he felt warm and comforted. He’d had to bring things to keep his hands and mind occupied, so he wouldn’t be tempted to talk and spook the wildlife away, and a black and white deck of cards saw the most use. He could probably get a decent job as a dealer in vegas if his major didn’t work out, after all that practice shuffling and doing tricks. Then, when they’d finally downed one, he could talk again and the long hike through the woods dragging the buck behind them on a tarp had always seemed to last a hundred years. They usually couldn’t justify the expense of a second deer tag, but one buck was more than enough to supplement their groceries for the year, once his dad has cleaned it and portioned it out into a million ziploc bags in the chest freezer on their back porch.

And, god, he missed venison. It was nostalgic, sure, but it was also delicious and heart healthy. The Sheriff could eat it every night without complaint and that had always made Stiles feel more secure. Less like his dad was going to bleed out on the altar of convenience foods and steak.

“Hey, Derek! Everyone shut up. Derek!”

The bickering cut off at Stiles’ shouting. Peter was away from the wall now, standing toe to toe with Allison who looked enraged, and Scott was still on the couch, although his head was turned away from the fight and he looked like he might be sick. Derek was staring at the ceiling again but he lowered his eyes and raised an eyebrow in question.

“Could you kill  _ me _ a deer?”

Both eyebrows shot up now, and Peter turned fully away from Allison, the lecherous expression creeping back in to replace his anger.

“ _ Excuse _ me?”

“You know, Bambi. Could you kill a deer for me? Or, like, a couple of deer?”

When Derek blushed, he blushed with his whole body, or so it seemed. The rosy hue started at his hairline and swept down past his collarbone and under his shirt, and he shot a furtive glance at the others before settling back on Stiles.

“You’re not really meant to ask someone else to court you, Stiles.”

“What?”

“Not that you wouldn’t be worth a couple of deer, you would, it’s just that--”

“Oh my god, Sourwolf,” he held out a hand, “Just...stop. I’m so sorry, no, I just meant generally. Like, non-courting-based dead deer. I literally just want to eat deer, I’m not demanding any romance.”

“Oh,” Derek looked more uncomfortable if that was possible, “I guess so. I mean, we don’t usually kill to eat except ceremonially, but if you need the meat--”

“I don’t. Need it. I mean, we’re doing fine, money-wise, it’s just that I like it. And it’s good for my dad’s diet, but it’s been so long that I don’t even think we renewed our license this year even if I had time to go myself. And, like, rifle scopes are great and all but I bet they’ve got nothing on alpha vision. And--”

“Stiles! Okay. I’ll bring it on Saturday.’

Stiles looked up from where he’d been knitting his fingers together.

“Really?”

“Well!” Allison clapped her hands together, “This was fun! Let’s never do it again!”


	2. A Plate

Stiles woke the Sheriff up early that Saturday. He was suspicious--when is he ever not--but relented when Stiles told him it was an early Father’s Day surprise and resigned himself to sit in bleary eyed silence on the back porch while Stiles dragged the solid wooden work bench out of the shed and gathered together a few knives, thick gloves, and some heavy duty twine. When he set up a bucket and tarp underneath the stronger of the two willow trees in their backyard his dad seemed to cotton on to the day’s activities, but he didn’t do anything other than drink his coffee and whistle to the birds in the trees.

Derek emerged from the treeline around eight o clock, a buck slung over his shoulders and Isaac carrying a smaller doe just behind him. The Sheriff’s smile grew wider for a moment before he schooled it into something stern and judicial.

“Boys.”

“Sir,” Derek nodded, and then deposited the deer on the work bench before brushing the grit and dust off his shoulders. Isaac said nothing, just laid his doe on the ground nearby, nodded, and jogged back into the trees.

“It seems like this is the present Stiles told me about, but I have to ask: are those animals legal?”

Stiles wiped a hand down his face and swallowed a groan.  _ Of course _ he can’t just let a nice gesture stand.

“I mean, it’s nowhere near in season, and even if it was that doesn’t look like any bullet hole I’m familiar with,” he gestured towards the wound in its side and the tearing along the legs.

“Well,” Derek ran his hands through his hair, “the law isn’t intended for the natural predators of the deer. Just the unnatural ones, humans, who might threaten the population by overhunting. I’d say I’m closer to a natural predator, wouldn’t you?”

The Sheriff smiled for real now, “That doesn’t answer the question, son.”

“No, sir, it does not.”

“Well!” he set his mug down next to Stiles and caught his eye, “Let’s get to work, you two.”

The first few cuts went quickly. Derek had been nice enough to do some field dressing, although not as much as Stiles or his dad would have done if they’d been there. Still, the entrails were gone, and the animals had been split groin to collar which made it easy to splay them open and work a knife underneath the skin. They each took a section, Stiles at the feet, Derek in the middle, and the Sheriff at the top making the delicate cuts around the head. Derek preferred his claws to a knife, and the added speed meant they soon had both animals quartered, skinned, and stored in the cool shed to age. As the morning wore on into afternoon Stiles’ dad and Derek started talking about bait and traps and attractants, the perceived benefits of lying in wait for the deer versus stalking them. Stiles kept up as best he could and, when the tools were all cleaned and put away, he got out the old deck of cards.

“I miss the times when I could take off and go up into the mountains. Too much work nowadays, and not enough money, but man it was gratifying to just escape the bullshit for a while.”

Derek leaned over and swiped a card from Stiles’ hand, smirking when he squawked in protest. He twirled it between two fingers and stared up at the cloudless sky.

“I know what you mean. When Laura and I first left California we were taking back roads more often than not, trying to avoid anywhere we could be spotted on camera. Paranoia, you know. So out of necessity we would eat local wildlife rather than stop at a gas station in an unfamiliar town. Plus it helped, with the full moon. We were a small pack, without any real good anchors, and I’d only learned to control my own shifts the year before.”

“Well I’m sorry you had to go through that,” the Sheriff laid a hand on Derek’s shoulder, “Sorrier that I didn’t catch the bitch who did it earlier. But it seems like you’ve come out of it stronger and that’s all we can really ask of tragedy.”

Stiles smiled at the well worn speech. He’d heard it a lot after his mother died, and it helped even when neither he nor the Sheriff believed it at the time.

“How old are you now, son?”

“Just turned 25 in the winter, sir.”

“Have a beer with me, then.”

“He can’t get drunk, dad,” Stiles piped up. The Sheriff rolled his eyes.

“No one gets drunk off one beer, kid.”

Derek bit his lip to hold back a laugh but kept his eyes focused ahead.

“That sounds good, Sheriff, thank you.”

Once his dad was inside, Stiles tapped at Derek’s shoulder.

“Thanks, for this. I know it probably took you all of ten minutes to take those things down but it means a lot to him, and he seems to like having you around.”

“Well, I like being around,” his tone was neutral but Stiles could see the ghost of a smile playing over his lips, “It’s nice, being able to talk about tracking and killing without anyone thinking of me as an animal.”

Stiles laughed.

“You are an animal Derek. So am I. So are the deer. That’s the point of hunting.”

“You know what I mean,” Derek scowled down at his hands, “It’s why we don’t kill to eat, except for when someone is getting married or a baby is born. Because god forbid humans see us acting like wolves, even the ones who’ve known us for years.”

“I know, but I mean it too. People forget, when they buy meat in stores or vegetables at a farmer’s market, exactly what we are. As if animals were one thing and humans are something else, made in a lab or whatever. But we’re animals, always have been, and we have all the same urges. One of the great apes, man, with just enough intelligence to make us really goddamn stupid.”

The Sheriff stepped back out onto the porch, two beers and a can of soda in hand.

“What are we talking about?”

“Apes and wolves,” Stiles popped the top on his soda and started fiddling with the tab, “I wonder if there are any wereapes out there. It feels redundant to me, but I don’t see why not. There’s werebears and werefoxes and weresharks.”

Derek’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline.

“Weresharks?”

“Oh my god,” Stiles laughed, “You have no idea. They look stupid as shit.”

“Stiles, don’t say shit.”

“Sorry, stupid as feces.”

The Sheriff groaned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are, in fact, wereapes out there, and weresharks. My favorite, however, are werebears. More properly known as ursine shapeshifters, the stories come from Germany, same place as the Berserkers who would wear bear skulls during battle. The legend is that a few bears decided that they wanted to live among men, so they took their fur off and went into town where they met and married human women, started farms, had children. Those children would end up one of three ways. Either they'd be (1) a hybrid, a man-shaped bear with bright eyes, (2) supernaturally beautiful humans, or (3) if the circumstances were just right they would be shapeshifters, able to hold both forms and move between them.
> 
> I love the stories where magic has no sensible explanation. They just took their fur off. That's it. That's the whole process. Presumably if you shaved a bear you'd just find a dude under there? And supernatural beauty and dark features makes me think of the Hales. They'd make good ursine shifters.


	3. A Prize

The buck and the doe yielded about 75 pounds of meat when all was said and done, more than enough to last through summer if they ate nothing else, which was Stiles’ plan. But as the weeks stretched on and Stiles and Derek went back to only seeing one another at pack meetings, Stiles found himself missing that time they’d spent dressing the deer together. Sure, they were around one another. Stiles was still the best strategist the pack had, and he loved to remind them at every available opportunity. Beacon Hills continued to be the number one monster tourist destination, too, so there’d been a couple of all-nighters in the woods sprinkled in. But it wasn’t the same. There was a distance there, when Derek was in public, that had melted away while they worked. It was a smoother, softer Derek, one Stiles had started to think of as his Derek in his head.

The day he went to drop off his dad’s lunch at the station and found Derek eating with his dad in the office, a bag from McDonald’s on the desk and a guilty expression on his face, he decided to do something about it.

“So I’ve made a decision,” he said, plunking the hummus and cucumber sandwich down next to the burgers.

The Sheriff swallowed, and glanced at Derek for a second.

“You’re not going to make me run this off, are you?”

“Probably,” he shrugged, “But that’s not what I meant. I think we should go rabbit hunting.”

“Rabbit…..why?” his dad asked.

“Jackrabbits are in season all year, you don’t need a license, you can take as many as you want, and we won’t have to go up to the cabin,” he counted off on his fingers, “Cheap, fun, only takes one day off.”

The Sheriff considered it, a smile growing on his face.

“Sounds to me like you’ve got it all figured out. When would we go out? Because I’m going to need to buy more ammunition.”

“Whenever you can get a weekend. And seriously, dad? There’s a gun locker full of bullets in the hallway, I passed it on the way in--”

“I’m not stealing ammunition, Stiles.”

Derek looked awkward now, his hands folded on his knees and fries forgotten. Stiles tried to catch his eye but he kept his gaze focused down on the desk.

“Hey, Sourwolf, that okay with you? I mean, you don’t have, like, a secret job or some paint you need to watch dry for the next few weeks, do you?”

“What? I’m…” Derek’s head shot up and he looked between Stiles and the Sheriff, “You wanted me to come?”

“Of course I do. We bonded over that deer, man, brotherhood of blood and guts.”

“Don’t be disgusting, Stiles,” the Sheriff huffed.

Stiles threw up his hands, almost knocking over the pen cup in front of him.

“There’s blood! And there’s guts! Why on earth would I feel the need to sugarcoat it?”

“Because I’m eating and you’re a good son who doesn’t go out of his way to nauseate his father.”

“Dream big dreams, dad. Anyway, what do you guys say? Dad, can you get a Saturday off? Derek, will you come kill rabbits with me?”

“Yeah, I...yeah.”

The Sheriff nodded too, and Derek blushed a little before leaning on his hand to cover his mouth. Stiles would bet money he was hiding a smile under there.

 

***

 

Derek picked them up at four in the morning in his Toyota. There was no real reason to be out so early, rabbits would be wandering the forest all day long, and they wouldn’t need to find a stand in the trees like a usual trip, but the Sheriff said the quiet of the morning was crucial to the hunting experience and Derek had agreed. Stiles just grunted and folded himself up in the backseat with a blanket, bleary eyes wandering over the bags beside him.

“I demand a Starbucks stop before we go to the Preserve. If you want me at all functional caffeine is required.”

Derek sighed, but took a right out of Stiles neighborhood instead of a left and headed towards the three streets that constituted “downtown” for Beacon Hills.

“Hey, can werewolves drink coffee? Or do you metabolize it too fast to matter, like with alcohol?”

He lifted a thermos out of the cupholder and held it up where Stiles could see.

“We drink coffee. The alcohol thing is more about the healing factor than metabolism, since alcohol is ultimately a really weak poison. Caffeine isn’t.”

“Dude, is that black coffee? Gross!”

“Stiles, I swear to God, if you get a glorified milkshake at the coffee place--”

“It’s my money, dad, I can get what I want.”

The Sheriff leveled a finger at him, “Not when we’re about to spend five hours in the woods together, you can’t. Minimal sugar, no arguments.”

By the time they were caffeinated, parked, and headed into the woods, the sky had lightened to blues and grays. The sun would hit the horizon in about an hour, plenty of time for them to hike to the pond that lay two miles into the forest. There they’d find all kinds of wildlife, from ducks to pheasant to the jackrabbits they were after, and even a few small predators.

The Sheriff headed up the line, then Derek, then Stiles, pack of cards already in hand. He’d need them if he was going to get through the hike without scratching his own skin off, and if they failed there was a rubix cube in the side pocket of his backpack. Every so often Derek would turn his head, nose tilted up into the wind, and tap the Sheriff’s shoulder to turn one direction or the other, avoiding the humane traps set by the parks service to redirect invasive species. They wouldn’t hurt anyone but it still wasn’t any fun to get your leg caught in, as Stiles knew from experience.

The woods seemed quiet at first listen, but the longer they walked without talking, or humming, or even stepping too firmly, subtler sounds began to filter through the trees. Insects, birds, the shuffle and scuffle of mammals in the underbrush. Every little shift and muffled squawk calling attention to itself. Stiles wondered if this is what it was like to be a werewolf. He hoped someday to find out, although he didn’t think now was the right time to ask, and anyway he wasn’t sure he knew who he wanted as his Alpha. Scott was a True Alpha and Stiles knew he’d earned it. Derek had come into his own as well. But a human in a wolf pack enjoyed a bit of freedom from pack dynamics and he was used to being their peer, and their friend. They could be the best leaders in the world, but he still wasn’t sure he’d ever want to be subject to them.

Derek perked up and straightened his shoulders, scenting the air. He snapped his head to the side, and a growl crawled out of his throat. Stiles watched in fascination as a change rippled through him, not a shifting so much as a change in attitude. His eyes dilated, his stance relaxed and then coiled as if to pounce, his hands pulled back ready to unsheath claws at a moment’s notice. And then, so quiet it could almost be mistaken for an uptick in the wind, he said, “Deer.”

Then he took off into the bushes. There was a grunting and a scrape of antlers--a buck then--and then a snarl and then a silence. Derek emerged, dragging his kill and looking self-assured even under the grim line of his mouth. Stiles suspected he was trying to hide the blood on his teeth but instead of asking he whooped in celebration. Damn the birds and damn the rabbits, they had venison for another month!

Derek smiled at him, finally, and there was the blood clinging to the edge of his gums. It made Stiles think of the way blood always clung to his cuticles after field dressing for days, and he whooped again.

On the tail end of it he heard a growl that was not Derek’s.

His rifle had been slung over his shoulder, loaded and safety engaged, and he swung it up and into his hands now. From behind Derek a white and tawny snout pushed through the leaves. He trained the scope on the creature, snicked the safety into the off position, waited only long enough to hear another snarl, predatory and primal, and then he squeezed the trigger twice producing two sharp pops and a mountain lion tumbled dead from the bushes.

“Stiles,” the Sheriff breathed, and then reached for the gun to point it down at the ground with a gentle hand.

Derek looked stricken, his claws and fangs extended but his body barely turned. The mountain lion would have gotten to him before he could register its presence.

“Well,” Stiles said, and his voice was clear as a bell in the quiet forest, “I might not be good at lacrosse, or soccer, or anything else I’ve tried, but at least I’m good at shooting. That’s a sport, isn’t it?”


	4. A Proof

Another pack meeting, another week gone. He didn’t know when he’d begun measuring time this way, only that it’d been six pack meetings since finals, and would be three more pack meetings until Scott left on vacation to Mexico City. Stiles was sprawled out on the couch in Derek’s loft, mind drifting and leg bouncing, as everyone wandered in and filled up the living space. Scott sat beside him, then Allison, then Isaac. Lydia perched on the armchair Derek usually took, even though he had proven last time he was not above just picking her up and physically relocating her. The chair was, apparently, a hill she was willing to die on. Peter puttered around the kitchen barefoot, making espresso with a complicated machine and steaming coconut milk to pour over it. (“Yes, wolves can be lactose intolerant, and  _ no _ I don’t know why.”) Erica and Boyd were tangled together in the loveseat, all pretense of being Mr Implacable and Mrs Seductive dropped as they watched some annoying YouTube video together on Boyd's phone.

Derek ambled down the spiral staircase and made for his armchair. He made no move to relocate Lydia this time, but traced blunt nails along her scalp and growled lowly and she shivered and moved on her own.

“All right. So, before we get into whatever threats the nemeton has to offer, how was everyone’s week?”

“Boring as hell,” Scott grinned, “no issues in the territory or new messages from the pack in Sacramento.”

“Ew, the ones who keep asking for Isaac?” Stiles screwed up his face.

“Hey! I may not want to go with them, but you don’t have to act  _ surprised _ that they want me.”

“Yes I do, Hugo Boss. It’s part of our mutual hatred thing, we shook on it.”

“That’s not--” Isaac cut himself off with a frustrated huff, “You’re just  _ so bad _ at insults.”

“Guys!” Derek barked, “Any actual news? Because if you’re just going to keep arguing I’m happy to head back to the den.”

“This place has a den? I thought this place was a den,” Stiles raised an eyebrow, then dropped it and flapped a hand “Oh, no wait, I do have news. I saved Derek!”

Scott shot him a skeptical look but his eyes widened when Derek groaned and covered his face.

“Wait, really? From what? Why didn’t you call anyone to help?”

“Because I didn’t need it, my dear Scoot. For once we were in my element. Or, well, I had my rifle anyway, we were out hunting with dad!”

“Oh, okay,” Scott let out a breath, “So what was it that got the drop on someone like Derek?”

Stiles shrugged, “Mountain lion, if you can believe it. I think Derek was mostly distracted by me celebrating. We were out there for rabbits, but he ended up finding a deer! Didn’t even take him five minutes to take it down, too, and we were all so preoccupied the little bastard was able to sneak up on us.”

Lydia’s face soured, and Allison got the same tension in her shoulders from the courting talk the month before, but Scott was smiling at him broadly and Erica looked viciously impressed. Boyd wasn’t paying attention.

“Yeah, well, they’re predators too. We have the same set of skills even if my senses are usually sharper. That ‘little bastard’ did well with what he had,” Derek was blushing, but wore a small smile, “He just didn’t have a rifle.”

Stiles winked at Derek and laughed when the blush intensified. Lydia made a choked off noise, and when Stiles glanced over she was scowling.

“Well, that’s disgusting. Can we talk about literally anything else? The weather, maybe? Mating habits of slugs? Actual pack business?”

“Seconded,” Allison raised a hand.

“Oh, come on, I didn’t even give you any details. Look, Erica appreciates my badassery,” he gestured a hand at the blonde on the other side of the room and she blew him a kiss with a bit of fang peeking out.

“Speaking of badassery, actually, since when do you own a rifle?” Erica asked, “And why on earth don’t you bring it when we’re facing actual monsters, instead of that stupid bat?”

Stiles narrowed his eyes, but he couldn’t quite wipe the glee off his face. He really didn’t get to brag very often, and it was even rarer to be talked about as if he were powerful. One of the drawbacks of being on Team Human: everyone basically viewed you as a fainting damsel.

“For one thing, my dad is a responsible person who keeps all the guns locked in a gun safe, and I haven’t been able to guess the combination yet. For another, we have regular bullets, almost everyone present today could shrug those things off. And the creatures that can’t are usually too small for me to hit, like pixies. I’m good, but I’m not that good.”

“Why did you even start doing this? I mean, I know why Derek does it,” Lydia flicked her fingers towards the alpha, “He can’t help it. But why on earth are you out there killing deer that never did anything to you?”

Stiles’ eyebrows rose and his brain stuttered for a minute before beginning to whirl again, much hotter. Sure, he knew there were people out there who didn’t like hunting but really?

“Lydia, I’ve heard you order steak ‘so blue it’s mooing’ at Tony’s before. Are you seriously trying to act squeamish now?”

“That’s different. Tony’s sources grass fed cows, and I didn’t go out and kill them myself. We live in a society, we don’t have to hunt to survive anymore, it’s kind of messed up that anyone would go out and do it for fun. We’re not animals.”

Allison nodded and Erica rolled her eyes.

“What do you two think deer eat exactly?” she asked, “And anyway, so what? What does diet have to do with anything? Aren’t Argent style hunters supposed to be ruthless?”

“The deer didn’t do anything wrong,” Allison waved the criticism away, “That’s exactly the point of being a hunter, you only go after the guilty. Killing innocent things is inhumane. At least the meat you get at the store didn’t suffer.”

Stiles barked out an unkind laugh.

“You think I’m that bad of a shot that they had time to suffer?”

She shifted in her seat and glanced to Lydia and back.

“You didn’t kill the deer this time.”

For the first time in the argument Stiles looked over to where Derek was sitting. He had his eyes fixed on a spot on the tile floor, his face ruddy and embarrassed. More than anything, that was what got Stiles angry. Because Derek had said more or less the same thing the day he visited the house, and in the face of it he just looked resigned. It was an expression Stiles never wanted to see on him again.

“No, I didn’t. Derek did. He sunk his teeth right into that deer’s throat and  _ pulled _ . The deer bled out on the forest floor and was dead before it knew what happened. Then you know what I did? I took out a knife and shoved it right up it’s--”

“Gross! Dude!” Scott shouted.

“What? Your girlfriend, no, fiancee, wants to talk about humane meat, well what Derek did was humane. The stuff she eats was raised on some factory farm where it barely ever got to see sunlight or eat a natural diet--yeah, grass-fed is marketing bullshit, Lydia, you should know better--and then killed with a bolt gun to the face. The things we hunt live a full life in the woods where they belong, and when we take them it’s over as quickly as possible. We don’t poison anyone with aconite, or use electricity, or put the deer in irons.”

Allison’s features had gone sharp, a cold fury bristling under her skin like it always did when she was reminded too keenly of what the Argents used to stand for.

“We don’t do that anymore,” she hissed.

“Yes, you do,” Stiles said, “You just do it to a different set of people.”

Peter applauded from the doorway, his futzy coconut latte on the hallway table beside him.

“Here here,” he said, “I knew you were my favorite for a reason.”

“Oh fuck  _ off _ , Peter. We’re not murder buddies. Derek isn’t cold or heartless like you, and neither am I. We’re just predators.”

“You’re not a werewolf, Stiles,” Lydia groaned, “And hunting for sport isn’t the moral high ground in any conversation.”

“Humans are predators, or did you forget your biology classes?”

Derek looked up from the floor, although his head was still ducked.

“Stiles, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not okay Derek! I may not have the ‘moral high ground’,” he crooked his fingers into air quotes, “according to our resident saints, but I damn well won’t put up with them shit talking someone I love! I’m not just going to sit here and  _ take it _ !”

By the time he realized he was shouting, everyone else had gone quiet. Derek’s eyes were as wide as saucers and Stiles felt like an ass for letting it get this far into the argument. He snarled, running his hands through his hair and then gripped it close to his scalp like he wanted to pull it out. There was nothing to say, after that, no transition or out he could think of, and so he just stood and left, walked out to the balcony and shut the glass door behind him, to stare out at Beacon Hills below them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am fully aware that this chapter is preachy as fuck. I really tried to cut back on it as much as I could but in order to get from ordinary nose-wrinkling at hunting to a place where Derek's insecurities were given a voice, I needed to walk the conversation through a few logical jumps and I just couldn't cut any more fat out. I apologize.


	5. Chapter 5

It was at least twenty minutes before Derek followed him outside. He didn’t really expect anyone else, certainly no one who should be apologizing. However effective it made them as a monster fighting squad, sometimes it sucked to be one of a whole pack made out of assholes.

Derek settled on the railing and looked out at the rooftops with him. He was mostly quiet, and Stiles could hear their breathing sync up as they stood side by side.

“The others have left,” he said finally, “Well. Except Peter. But he’s back in his own room doing god knows what.”

He looked considering for a moment and then added:

“Probably porn.”

Stiles snickered, and felt the ball of stress and anxiety at the back of his head start to loosen.

“I’m sorry, about all that. I know you don’t like that kind of attention, and I shouldn’t have made it just a thing. I just…” he looked down at where his hands were clasped together loosely, and frowned, “I hate that hypocritical nonsense anyway, but then they had to drag you into it.”

“Why did it matter to you?”

Stiles pulled his head up to meet Derek’s eye, but he didn't meet it.

“I mean, I know you defend your friends. I know you’re loyal. But that all sounded like...something else.”

He took a deep breath, let it out. Tried to force his words to coalesce into something meaningful.

“Do you love me as family? Pack?" Derek asked, “Like...you do your dad? Or….I mean, is it…”

Stiles reached into the pocket of his hoodie and pulled out a small velvet bag. It brushed smooth against his fingers and he considered backing out for a moment before he started talking.

“I didn’t really intend to do it like this, but there’s something I’ve been thinking of giving you all week.”

Derek eyed the bag curiously, and moved closer to take it, but Stiles held on.

“Did you know the sun and the moon are supposed to be married?”

“What?” Derek glanced around, as if looking for some billboard Stiles might be talking about.

“It’s this old myth, there’s a couple of cultures that believe it. They’ve been in love for longer than anyone can remember but they always pass each other in the sky, never together for long enough for it to matter. The moon is supposed to reign over the night and the sea, like you were telling Scott a little while ago, and the sun is supposed to reign over the day and the forest. He’s got horns, and he represents both the hunter and the hunted.”

Derek’s brow had a confused quirk to it that made him look more amused than anything.

“Where’d you read all that?”

He laughed, “I might have misappropriated some books from Peter. I was curious, after that long courting discussion. Anyway, I know traditionally it’s only supposed to represent the moon but I liked the idea of showing the symmetry of the myth, and I might have had some antlers lying around for totally legal reasons. Here.”

He handed over the pouch and kept his gaze trained away. He was too afraid of a negative reaction, that he’d misunderstood their relationship or was making Derek uncomfortable. After a long silence, Derek huffed and croaked out a noise that sounded like a question and he looked over his shoulder to see the werewolf glassy eyed, staring at the necklace in his hand.

It was a little big, as pendants go, and a smooth beige. A round full moon hung from the center of the cord, with a crescent on either side creating a set of almost-wings. It would be heavy on Stiles if he had to wear it, but he hoped all that extra alpha strength meant that Derek wouldn’t mind it.

“That’s try number five, by the way,” he said, “I kept snapping the waxing and waning moons off the side by accident, it’s a lot more delicate than I thought it would be.”

“What...what is this?” Derek’s voice was rough and wet.

“I think we did this backwards. The first gift is a declaration of intent, right? Then the proof of love after, then sports, then prey? Well, this is my declaration. I just wish I’d been able to give you the proof sometime when we weren’t all fighting.”

He cleared his throat and tried to swallow down a hot tendril of anxiety that was threatening to climb up and out of his mouth.

“You’re worth that much, anyway.”

Derek was quiet for a long time. Minutes ticked by with nothing but the sound of their breathing and the traffic below. Stiles told himself that even if he got turned down it would be worth it, at least Derek would know he was valued by somebody. Even if it was a hyperactive spaz. It didn’t help the urge to run that itched under his skin, though, and it was a fight to say nothing as Derek turned the pendant in his hands, over and over.

When Stiles had given up all hope of Derek ever speaking again (“Oh my god, did I  _ break _ my alpha?”) he stopped turning it. A smile crept onto his face by degrees and he slipped the black cord over his head. The three moons came to rest right at his clavicle and Stiles felt pleased that he’d guessed the length right.

“And you’re worth a couple of deer.”

Stiles smiled so wide he felt like his face would crack in two.

“Although you have yet to get me any prey,” Derek added.

He shoved at Derek’s shoulder and a laugh bubbled up out of him, “Hey now, we proved our worth to each other. I hear it’s very modern.”

“Shut up,” Derek laughed too, and then leaned into Stiles’ space and pressed a kiss to his cheek. He snorted a laugh, and kissed back, just as easy and uncomplicated as he had always hoped it would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The necklace in question looks like this: https://68.media.tumblr.com/53935b2bac05e3f3496f38b3a5f5f770/tumblr_omv21znLJZ1voc1nyo1_1280.jpg
> 
> I hope I described it well enough. I've had a few pieces of jewelry made out of antler, it's fragile but so so cool as a material.
> 
> 'Tis finished! Or at least I think it's finished, I don't see any real natural sequel. So I'll head back into my cave until I've finished something else.


End file.
